


The Dream

by SaltyStages



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyStages/pseuds/SaltyStages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's been having bad dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I blinked hard and sat up. "Another dream," I muttered, sighing. Well... dream wasn't exactly the right word. Idea was slightly more accurate. Sleep and consciousness had long since melted together. I no longer knew what was real. Nothing was a dream. Everything was a dream. 

I got out of bed slowly and stumbled upstairs to the kitchen. I needed coffee, and needed it badly. I brewed a cup and sat at the table while I waited. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I sighed. I could still remember the dream, as vividly as if it had just happened. The colors, the smells of the countryside. But this time it wasn't my fault. I didn't cause this and I did what I had to. No, this wasn't my fault. It normally was. 

This time, however, Frank and I were standing on the side of the highway, just past the barrier. Frank's arm was around my waist as we watched the sunset peacefully. I rested my head on his shoulder and smiled. I had finally gotten Frank. After years of waiting and wishing. But alas, it was a dream. That much I knew, even while I was still dreaming it. 

Frank let his arm fall from my waist so he could hoist his jeans, which were slipping. He shuffled his feet, trying to make it easier to pull the tight pants up. 

That's when he tripped over the rock. I yelled, and before I knew it, Frank was rolling down the hill. I quickly ran after him, trying to catch him before he reached the bottom. I was too late. I tried. I did. 

There was a sickening crack as Frank's head collided with the base of a tree. I finally reached him and knelt over his motionless body.

"F-Frank?" I held back the bile and tried to ignore the pungent smell of the blood covering Frank's face. His legs were broken and a branch was embedded in his torso. 

Frank groaned slightly and looked into my eyes, struggling to focus. I looked at him in shock. 

"You're still..." 

"G-Gerard... h-help... me..." 

I knew what had to be done. Frank couldn't live like this. He'd never walk again. Never play on stage. And judging from the branch in his side, he might be completely paralyzed. 

I picked up a rock the size of my fist and lifted it above my head. I thrust down quickly. Over and over, I hit Frank in the face, sobbing as his skull shattered, cracking under the weight of the rock. 

The teapot whistled, snapping me out of my stupor. I got up and turned it off, pouring it into the strainer of coffee grounds. 

This dream wasn't as bad as the others. It wasn't my fault. I did what I had to do. 

So why was I disappointed?


	2. Can't Sleep

I walked back to my room, treading lightly and holding the steaming mug carefully. I didn't want to wake Frank, whose bedroom was just down the hall. I'd been quite good at hiding my nightmares from my roommate, fearing what would happen if Frank were to find out.

I fumbled for the door in the dark and entered my messy room, closing the door with my foot. Setting the coffee on the bedside table, I climbed into bed slowly. I downed half the cup before setting it back down and pulling the blanket over my head, lost in thought.

In all honesty, there were two reasons Frank could never find out about the dreams. The fact that he died in all of them was a big reason. I didn't want Frank to feel like he was living with a homicidal maniac. The other reason was a bit more complex. 

During the Warped Tour, I realized I had feelings for Frank. Strong ones. It took a while to figure out what was going on in my own brain. But I finally saw what had been there all along. It was difficult being in the same tour bus as him every night. The urge to climb in his bunk was one that never went away. After the Warped Tour, we had all come home to take a much needed break. I was a bit glad to be rid of him, to be honest. It had gotten to the point where I was taking cold showers to... take my mind off things. The concert version of cold showers being a hose, of course.

I screamed as the door opened suddenly. Frank walked in and sat on the foot of my bed, eyes wide.

"Holy shit, Gee. My face can't be that scary."

"I... s-sorry..." Angry at myself for blushing and stuttering, my voice became harsh. "You could have knocked, Iero. I had no way of knowing whether you were a burglar."

Frank chuckled and ruffled my hair, something he always knew annoyed me. "Aw, is the widdle baby Gee worried I'll kill him?"

"I'm not the one who has to be worried..."

"Speak up, you rotten mumbler. No wonder no one knows your lyrics."

I smiled in spite of myself. The jokes that would piss normal people off made me laugh. They calmed me, even though they were most often at my expense. Maybe it was the fact that they came from those perfect lips...

"Oi. You still with me?" Frank snapped his fingers in my face. I blinked and nodded. Frank noticed my coffee and looked at me quizzically. "You been taking little field trips to the kitchen without inviting me? Bad Gee." Before I could protest, he grabbed the mug and downed the rest of my coffee. I rolled my eyes and shoved his shoulder. Frank set the mug down and shivered. It was quite cold.

"Hey, scoot over. I can't sleep and it's freezing in my room," Frank demanded.

"I... do I have to?"

"Fuck yes. And your feet better not be cold," he replied, crawling under the blanket and hugging me tightly.

"Frank, stop..." I mumbled halfheartedly. The warmth of his chest was radiating from under his thin shirt and I found myself unable to push him off.

"You're warm, Gee," he mumbled into my shoulder.

"Y-Yeah... so are you."

"Nah, I'm freezing," as if to prove his point, a violent shiver made its way down his body. He wrapped his legs around mine and held me tighter, a feat I had thought impossible.

"Frank..."

"Yeah," he lifted his head slightly to look me in the eyes. 

"Y-You... I..."

"C'mon man, speak up."

He didn't realize I couldn't. His eyes are what finally did it. I unwrapped my legs from his and turned on my other side, squeezing my eyes shut. The warmth that was my blushing face was going to be really obvious. and I couldn't let him see.

"Are you mad at me? I didn't mean to... I'm sorry. I'm really pushy." I shook my head.

"So you're not angry with me. What, then?"

"Nothing, Frank..." I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, feeling the blush leave as the frustration started. He seemed to get the hint and wrapped his arms around my waist silently, burying his head in my shoulder once again.

We lied there for a while, sharing warmth. It was nice. Excruciating, but nice. Unfortunately, my mind began to wander. I started imagining the dream. I tried to shake it from my mind, but it wasn't exactly working. After what felt like half an hour of trying (and failing) to sleep, I heard him clear his throat.

"You seem upset with me," Frank said.

"No," I sighed, biting my lip. "I'm not. I'm just... a bit tired and it's difficult falling asleep with you here."

"Oh. Should I leave then?"

"No," I snapped quickly. "I-It's cold and I'm not turning up the heat."

I felt Frank nod and take a deep breath.

"Gerard?"

"Yes, Frank?"

"You've been saying that for weeks now."

"Saying what?" I turned to look at him, an instant mistake. I couldn't focus on his eyes or lips, so I resigned myself to staring at his neck. That perfect neck...

"'I'm tired.' And you really are. Have you been getting any sleep at all?"

"Uh... no. No, not really." I saw no point in lying to him.

"Why not?"

"Can we just try to sleep, Frank? Please?"

"Of course, Gerard." Frank wrapped his arms around me once again and closed his eyes. I felt myself slipping away as well. I was confident I wouldn't dream tonight. Not with him here.


	3. The Haircut

I stood in the bathroom, clutching the edge of the sink as if I'd fall if I let go. I stared at myself in the mirror and sighed, pushing the hair out of my face. My eyelids were dark from lack of sleep and my skin was drained of all color. I focused on my eyes, comparing them to Frank's. His were beautiful and full of life whereas mine made me appear dead. My hair fell into my eyes, breaking my concentration. Glaring at the mirror, I cursed quietly. I knew last night had been a dream. Not one of the horrible ones, but it still pissed me off. Frank had cuddled with me. Like anything of the sort would ever happen in reality. Was my brain just trying to torture me? Drive me mad? It was a dream... right?

Of course it was.

I pushed my hair back once more and frowned. I noticed a pair of scissors laying on the counter. I picked them up and studied my hair in the mirror. It was getting long and annoying. Messing with my train of thought. It was almost growing by the second. It had been to my nose. Now it was to my chin. But I had to have been imagining it. 

Bringing the scissors to my fringe, I snipped off a few strands carefully. I watched the clumps of hair fall to the floor and jumped slightly as I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

Frank's face smiled at me in the mirror.

"Hey Gee, nice haircut. It suits you." He rested his chin on my bare shoulder and my heart skipped a beat. I turned around to face him. I wanted to caress him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to...

I felt myself raising the scissors instead. Yes. That was more fitting. A better idea. Do it, Gerard. Do it.

Before he could react, I stabbed him in the throat. I didn't bother repeating the action. I didn't feel like hacking. Instead, I wrenched the blades apart and twisted sharply in order to do the most damage. His eyes widened as he choked for breath. I wanted it to hurt, so I pushed them in harder and closed the blades. A panicked gurgle escaped his mouth as blood bubbled from his throat. I pulled the scissors out and he crumpled to the floor, twitching and pressing his fingers to his neck. I stepped over his twitching body and went back to bed.

I woke up with Frank's arms wrapped around my waist. I screamed and lunged backwards, the dream still fresh in my mind. His arms were tight like a vice around me and I couldn't break his grasp. But he woke to my scream and instantly detached, eyes wide and fearful.

"Gerard! What the fuck, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

I stared at the wall, silent.

"G-Gerard... are you okay?" Frank looked into my eyes, frowning.

Eyes wide, I still couldn't find my voice.

"Answer me. You're starting to freak me out."

My voice failed me once again.

That's when Frank slapped me. It didn't hurt, but it sure as hell snapped me out of my shocked state.

"OW!"

"That's more like it." He hugged me tightly and murmured against my neck. "Bad dream?"

"I-I... uh, yeah."

"What did you dream?"

"Just um... I can't remember now." I cringed at my horrible lie, and he let go, getting out of the bed.

"When you remember, let me know," he said quietly as he walked out of my room.

"Frank, wait!" I jumped out of bed quickly, getting tangled in the bedsheets and falling to the floor.

Frank walked over and helped me stand up, sighing.

"I'm sorry, Frank. It's just not a dream I'd like to revisit."

"There's the truth," he grinned. That smile. That forgiving smile, as if all had been forgotten. 

"Yeah..." I shook my head as if to clear all the bad things from my mind.

"Let's go get some coffee, shall we? Help you forget that horrible dream."

We walked to the kitchen together, the mood quite a bit lighter.

The dream forgotten.

For now.


	4. Band Practice

Over the next few days, I hid away in my room. The curtains drawn, the light off. I didn't sleep, though. I didn't even lie in bed. No. I sat at my desk and stared into space. When I bothered to, I would pick up my pencil and my sketchbook. Never did my pencil touch the paper. Not once. It was as if there was a forcefield. Every time I had an idea of what to draw or even write, it flew out of my mind before the pencil could reach the paper.

I sighed as I heard a knock on the door. "Come in, Frank." Frank walked into my room and placed a plate next to my sketchbook. 

"You need to eat. I'm getting worried."

I looked at the plate. A sandwich. "I'm not hungry, Frank."

"I don't care. Eat. And you know what? I shouldn't have to be telling you to."

"What're roommates for?" I mumbled.

"Very funny, Gerard. I'm not leaving till you eat."

I sighed and picked up the sandwich, nibbling slowly. I looked up and saw Frank watching me intensely. I crossed my eyes at him and took a bigger bite, which made him smile a bit. I finished the rest of the sandwich quickly, realizing how hungry I actually was. Frank chuckled and picked up the plate.

"Good?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now come on, we've got places to be."

"shit, Frank. I don't want to go anywhere."

"Well that's too bad, because we have to meet the guys to discuss the new album."

"Fuck."

Frank narrowed his eyes and takes my arm to pull me out of my chair. 

"Gerard, seriously. Since when do you cringe at the thought of seeing the guys? Especially Mikey. He misses you. He's been calling every day. I'm sure you've heard the phone ring."

I had. I didn't want to face them. Not even my brother. I had a sudden twinge of guilt.

"Alright. Alright, I'll go. Get out so I can get changed."

Frank left and I went to my dresser to pull out some clothes. I dressed slowly, deciding against a shower. They were used to that from me, so why bother? I sat on the edge of my bed and ran my fingers through my hair. The dreams happened almost every night now. It was getting more and more difficult to distinguish them from reality. 

It seemed a lifetime later when I looked up and realized I was in Frank's car. My sketchbook was in my lap. I looked to Frank and saw he was staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He noticed me looking and glanced in my direction.

"I swear, you're like a ghost. I nearly had to drag you out of the house. We're going to meet the guys and when we get there, you're gonna pull yourself out of the depths of your mind and have fun. And that's an order." Frank chuckled at the sound of himself sounding so demanding.

"Everything's a joke to you. Alright, I'll have some fun." I found myself smiling. 

We pulled into Ray's driveway and before I knew it, my door had been flung open and I was being hugged very tightly.

"Gee! I've been so worried!" Mikey pulled away and looked at my face, frowning slightly. 

"Frank was right, you look like shit."

"Thanks, bro." I rolled my eyes jokingly, knowing he meant no offense.

"Well come on, we have some writing to do." He pulled me from the car and nearly dragged me into the house. I entered the small living room and looked around to see Ray and Bob smiling up at me from the couch. Ray was holding an acoustic guitar and Bob was hitting everything in sight with his drumsticks.

"Bob? What are you doing?" Frank stepped into the house behind me.

"Just keeping the beat in case we ever decide to actually start," he replied as he hit Ray on the head. Ray put down the guitar and launched himself at Bob, pulling him off the couch onto the floor. Mikey stepped over them as they wrestled and sat down in Bob's vacated seat. I sat next to him and chuckled quietly as I watched the scuffle. Ray jumped up and ran to the other side of the room, running his fingers through his bushy hair. Bob sat up and laughed loudly. 

"I win!"

"Do not!"

"Alright, children," Frank sat in the armchair and clapped his hands like a teacher. "Let's get to work. Down to the basement or should we just sit here?

We all decided to move to the basement. I sat there and listened as the guys experimented with chords, beats, and rhythms. I barely noticed myself scribbling lyrics into my sketchbook. I was happily surprised once I did notice. Days of a creative brick wall and suddenly the lyrics come running forth. 

An hour later, we took a break. Mikey walked over to me as the others went to the kitchen to grab sodas. 

"Hey, can I see what lyrics you've got so far?" Mikey knew he was the only one allowed to see my lyrics before they were done. I nodded and handed him my sketchbook.

"No notebook?"

"Nah, guess I grabbed this by mistake. I haven't drawn anything though."

"Really? That's unlike you. Your colored pencils must be lonely."

I chuckled and nodded before heading to the kitchen. I walked in and saw Bob and Frank having a bit of a battle. Bob was holding a dishtowel and Frank had the sink hose gripped tightly in his fingers. Ray was standing next to the fridge and watching with a grin on his face. Frank sprayed Bob quickly and ducked as Bob rattailed him with the dishtowel. I stood next to Ray and smiled at him.

"Ten bucks on Iero," Ray challenged.

"Deal. You're going down."

Bob whipped Frank in the forehead and Frank slipped on a puddle of water, falling onto the floor. Bob roared in laughter and helped Frank up. Ray looked to me with a mischievous grin.

"Pay up."

I rolled my eyes playfully and reached into my back pocket. Mikey came up the stairs into the kitchen, carrying my sketchbook. Silently, he held it up for all of us to see. When I saw what was on the page, I dropped my wallet.

Frank's bloody face stared back at us, realistic and gruesome.


	5. The Picture

"What the fuck is this, Gerard?"

I wondered the same thing. This had to be a dream. It had to be. There was no way I had drawn that. But I went all day without killing Frank. To prove to myself it wasn't a dream, I moved closer to Frank. No murderous feelings. Just intense mortification and guilt.

"I said, what is this?!" Mikey moved quickly to stand between me and Frank. That pissed me off.

"I don't know! Like I would ever draw something like that? I told you, I haven't been drawing. I don't see why you feel the need to protect Frank from me. I would never hurt him."

"I don't believe he's capable of hurting anyone, Mikey. It's okay, seriously." Frank put his hand on Mikey's shoulder and stepped closer to me. I bit my lip nervously and looked away. 

"Gerard?" My shoulder was the next to be touched. 

"Y-Yeah?" I noticed how concerned his soft voice sounded. How my brain could go from vengeful to enamored so quickly. 

I'm not insane, I'm not insane...

"Gerard! Did you hear me?" Ray snapped his fingers.

"Uh... what?"

"I asked if you know who drew this. It's in your sketchbook and it looks a lot like your work."

"I-I might have drawn it. Who knows. I was drunk a couple nights ago." I had been drinking more lately...

"It looks a bit like me," Frank said quietly.

"No way is that you. It's most likely the male Demolition Lover. I'm sure the female must be in there somewhere. I guess I've been drawing them again. Don't know why. I did like them a lot. Maybe I'm just trying to figure out what the artwork and concept for the next album will be." 

I cut off when I noticed I was rambling. They looked convinced, though. Everyone knows I'm a bit morbid. 

"Maybe we should go home, Gerard. So that you can figure out the artwork. Maybe we'll have an album cover even before the album. That'll be cool," frank chuckled lightly.

I nodded and the others looked at me uneasily. I raised an eyebrow and Bob came over to pat me heavily on the back.

"Nice to see you, Gerard. You should try to stop being nocturnal more often. Maybe you'll stop being all creepy and shit."

"Thanks..." 

"I'm kidding, as I always am. Go home and get some rest, alright?"

Frank and I said goodbye to Mikey, Ray and Bob and headed for the car. As I was buckling my seatbelt, Frank turned to me.

"Gerard, are you sure you're okay? You've been acting so distant lately. Well... you've been distant for quite a while. Especially from me. Since the Warped Tour, really. But now it's become a lot more pronounced. Hell, I was surprised you even let me in your room last night. Do I annoy you or something?"

"Not at all, Frank," I sighed.

"Then what could it be? Why are you so standoffish?"

I looked out the window and didn't reply. I couldn't. Frank turned on the car and didn't speak another word until we got home. As soon as I unlocked the door, Frank and turned to confront me.

"So should I move out? I don't want to cause you any emotional stress." He actually looked serious. No sign of bitter sarcasm. He was really that concerned for me.

"No. Please don't. You're awesome, Frank. A really good roommate. Plus, you make it cheaper for both of us to live here. And you're my best friend. Why would I want to get rid of you?"

"Thanks, Gerard. For letting me live here in the first place and for the ability to stay here, even though you're obviously going through some serious emotional turmoil. And I'm here to help, okay?"

I nodded and grinned, closing the door behind me as I walked to the living room. I sat on the couch and flicked on the tv in an attempt to seem normal. Frank had already gone through enough for one day, so why not make an effort to be friendly. He sat down next to me and put his feet up on the coffee table. We sat there for a while and watched South Park, which cheered us both up immensely. Before long, my stomach hurt for a reason other than hunger and dread. I hadn't laughed this hard in so long. And what made it better is that Frank was right there next to me, enjoying it just as much as I was.

"Frank?"

"Yeah, Gerard?" 

"Thanks for this."

"For what?"

"Everything, really. You put up with my dumb moods and don't complain or even seem to mind. You've been keeping me alive by forcing me to eat, and well... you're here watching this with me. You're a great friend, Frank. Truly.

"That means a lot, Gerard. I'm so glad to know I've helped. It really scares me to see you cooped up all the time. I know you've spent most of your life that way, but after Revenge and the Warped Tour, you've seemed a bit happier. And now it's almost as if it's worse. I guess working on this new album will help. I really hope so."

I nodded and smiled. Maybe hanging out with them more often would pull me out of my dark mind. Hell, maybe I wouldn't even have any nightmares tonight. 

"I hope so too. Either way, I know you're helping. So thank you. I'm sorry for acting as if I don't want you around. It's nothing personal." 

It was.

"Yeah, I get that. Don't worry about it, man." 

At that, Frank turned back to the tv and started laughing at Cartman's antics almost immediately. I joined in, but the laughter was less sincere this time. I had begun thinking again. 

I wanted to tell him. I felt I had to. The problem was, however, that I wasn't sure which secret I needed to tell him first. If I even told them both. No, I told myself. I could not tell him about the dreams. Or the picture. I knew very well that was Frank. They had fallen for my story, but it was simply none other than him. I would look at the picture later. I couldn't bring myself to look at it in front of anyone else, especially not Frank.

"Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"You're sighing. What's up?"

"Nothing, just thinking.'

"Ah, but the brain is a terrible thing. What're you thinking about? And this time, be honest."

I sat there for a minute and weighed my options. I would not mention the dreams. That much I knew. But I couldn't lie to him. So I had to tell him the only other thing I could. And that would be one of the hardest things I've ever had to say. But it was about time. Maybe if he knew my feelings for him, he would want nothing more to do with me. If he left, then maybe I would stop dreaming about him. I cringed and mentally slapped myself. Normal people have lusty dreams about the ones they have feelings for. 

But no, you fuck up. No, you dream about killing him.

"Well?"

"Well... the truth is..."


	6. Coffee Time

I faltered. Frank sighed and leaned against the arm rest.

"Please just tell me, Gerard. You know I wouldn't judge. No matter how bad it is."

"I know, Frank. It's just something I've been struggling with for quite a while now. And I'm not sure how to even tell you. 

"Try me."

"Frank..." I cringed as my voice cracked. I looked at him and he raised an eyebrow. "You're my best friend, right?"

"Yes I am, unless you've replaced me."

"What if I wanted more than that?"

Frank turned to stare at me, his green eyes intensely studying mine. It was as if he could see into my soul, as cliché as that sounds. I bit my lip and nervously met his gaze.

"What exactly do you mean, Gerard? Are you saying you have feelings for me? I wasn't aware you're into men."

"I... yeah, a bit. But not just any man. You." I was beginning to feel braver.

"I see. Well you do know I'm bisexual, right?"

"Uh... I-I guess."

"Well I am. And I guess we have something in common."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"We both like each other."

I froze.

"Hell, why do you think I cuddled with you the other night? I don't exactly do that with just anyone. No. You're special. And I guess I wanted to see if you'd reject me. You didn't, so I figured I might have a chance."

"Is this a joke?"

"Why would it be a joke? I may be a total douche sometimes, but not about this. The truth is, I've been into you since I first heard the band. I knew I just had to join. I couldn't pass up being so close to the mysterious lead singer."

My eyes widened as his words finally sunk in. He was being truthful. Not a flicker of sarcasm or humor showed in his eyes. No, it was something else entirely. Vulnerability. Nervousness. Trust. A smile played at his lips as he noticed me staring. He looked down and raised his hand to stroke my cheek lightly. I could feel myself blushing, something that was quite rare. This had to be a dream. I pinched myself roughly, breaking eye contact and muttering under my breath. Frank noticed this and lifted my arm to kiss it lightly. 

"You're not imagining this. No need for pinching."

I nodded as my breath caught in my throat. 

"Good. Now where were we?" Frank stroked my cheek again, letting his fingers rest at the corner of my lips. I ever-so-gently kissed his hand and he smiled. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against mine. I nervously kissed back before pulling away.

"S-Sorry. I'm just..."

"Nervous?"

I nodded. 

"That's okay. I'm a bit nervous too." Frank smiled that illuminating smile of his and wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning back against the couch. We sat there in each other's arms for a while. I rested my head against his shoulder and he ran his fingers through my hair.

A few minutes later, I lifted my head and removed his arm from around my waist. He watched me as I stood up and stood with me.

"I need some coffee. You want some?"

"Sounds perfect," Frank replied and took my hand.

We walked to the kitchen and I filled the kettle with water, setting it on the stove. Frank kissed my cheek and studied my face as we waited. I stared at the kettle, waiting for it to heat up. Frank led me over to the table and sat down, pulling me into his lap. I sat silently and looked at the floor. This didn't seem to bother him. He leaned into me, his head on my shoulder. 

As the kettle started to squeal, I jumped up so fast that Frank's head snapped back. I ran to the kettle and poured the hot water into the coffee strainer, breathing in the smell of fresh coffee with a smile. Frank made his way to the coffee at a slower pace, chuckling under his breath. I filled our mugs with steaming coffee and he grabbed his. 

"Thanks, this smells amazing."

I glared at him and raised my mug, smashing it over his head. Coffee and shards of ceramic went flying as Frank crumpled to the floor. He raised a shaky hand to his scalp and gagged at the sight of his blood. Looking up into my eyes fearfully, he began to crawl backwards. I grabbed the kettle and grinned when I realized how full it still was. I advanced on him quickly and opened the spout, dousing his face with scalding water. He screamed and fell on his back, writhing in pain as his face started to blister and peel apart. Not satisfied by his screams, I brought the kettle down quickly, smashing his face against the floor.

He was finally silent.


	7. The Truth

Waking up screaming in Frank's arms wasn't fun, especially not twice in one week. The screams quickly turned into sobs as I buried my face in his chest. He ran his fingers through my hair and muttered softly.

"It's okay, Gee. It wasn't real. You're safe."

"Wh-Why are you calling me that?"

"Oh... I'm sorry. I just thought..." he trailed off, blushing lightly.

"How much of that was real?" I asked slowly, noticing how compassionate he was being. 

"We kissed and then you fell asleep shortly after. I was glad you did; you haven't been sleeping."

"We kissed."

"Yes."

I closed my eyes and smiled as I remembered the kiss. For once, it wasn't a dream. It was wonderfully, blissfully, and completely real. It was almost enough to make me forget the dream.

Almost.

Frank noticed me frowning and stroked my cheek softly. I smiled once again and quickly leaned forward to kiss him. I needed it to be real. I needed to forget. He kissed back and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me closer. I nervously deepened the kiss and licked along his bottom lip. That's when he pulled away.

"I-I'm sorry, Frank. Did I do something wrong?"

"No. I'm just worried about the dream. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're shaking."

I looked down at my hand, which was in fact, shaking. I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. 

"What did you dream, Gee?"

"Nothing I want to talk about, Frank. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. But one day, you'll tell me. I know you. It'll happen.

"Whatever you say, Frank."

"So... about that drawing."

I glanced up at him nervously and sighed. He wasn't going to let up. I'd have to tell him eventually. He looked at me, eyes full of concern. The eyes that not ten minutes before, I had dreamed of mutilating. I bit my lip in guilt.

"I've been dreaming of bad things happening. And I guess I drew one of the dreams without even realizing it."

"That wasn't a demolition lover, was it?"

"No."

"It was me, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

"Oh."


	8. Video Games

"'Oh'? Is that all you have to say?" I stood up and starting pacing across the room. ""Fuck. I knew you'd react badly. Of course you would..."

"Gee, so what? You had a nightmare about me. That's not exactly weird," Frank assured me, standing up.

"No?"

"Not at all. Nightmares often target the ones you care about," he replied, coming to wrap his arms around my waist.

"True. I just..." I bit my lip and sighed. I couldn't tell him the truth of it.

"I'm safe. I'm here with you and I've never been happier. It was just a bad dream. That's all."

"What about the drawing," I asked before mentally slapping myself. I had been given the chance to change the subject and just kept pushing it instead.

"Hmm," Frank hesitated. "It's a bit worrisome. The fact that you don't even remember drawing it. But you'd been drinking, right? Maybe it just slipped your mind."

"Yeah. That's gotta be it," I said, smiling. "So no harm no foul, right?"

"Right." Frank kissed my cheek. "Now since it's late and sleep probably won't happen, what d'you say we play Mario Kart? It'll be fun!" He grinned and tugged on my hands. I chuckled and allowed him to pull me back to the couch. 

"You are such a kid, Frank."

"Nah, I just get excited over the littlest things," he replied, his grin widening.

"You'll wipe that stupid smirk off your face when I beat you at Mario Kart."

"You are so on," he challenged, plopping down and grabbing a controller. I grinned and picked up mine, turning on the Wii. I sped past him as the flag went up, moving my body along with the twists and turns.

"Stop running into me!" Frank said, frustrated.

"I'm not!"

"In real life, dork!" he asserted, shoving me lightly. I shoved back, which sent Mario off a cliff. Frank hit my knee with his controller, making Bowser spin out uncontrollably. I threw mine on the floor and launched myself at him, tickling his sides.

"Fuck, Gee! Stop!"

"Never! Say you're sorry!"

"For what?"

That stumped me. I sat up for a moment to contemplate and he took the advantage to pin me. I laughed loudly but stopped when I saw his grin turn into an intense gaze. I leaned up to meet his lips and wrapped my arms around his neck. He kissed back and began to run his hand up my shirt, stroking my chest softly. He deepened the kiss and we lay there for a few minutes, lazily making out. I broke away to breathe and he chuckled, burying his face in my shoulder. 

"This couch is cramped..."

"You calling me heavy?" Frank pouted, still on top of me.

"No, never." I grinned up at him. He smiled and rolled off carefully, landing on the floor. I moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in mine. 

"So Gee, I have a question."

"Okay..."

"When did you know? I mean, when did you first know you had feelings for me?"

"Oh um..." hesitated, attempting to hide my blush. "It was actually that first night when you came up on stage complimenting us."

"I was a bit of a little fanboy that night."

"Emphasis on little," I replied, grinning. He pinched my sides, crossing his eyes.

"Continue, Gee."

"You were so excited and you made me feel so talented. I had actually never felt like that before. I never thought our band would get out of Jersey. Out of those dingy little clubs and basements. But that night, you gave me hope. The sexy little tattooed man, actually complimenting us. I felt so proud of the band."

"Well... I was mostly just complimenting you. Mikey, Matt and Ray were great too, but I found it hard to concentrate on them."

I nodded, the blush deepening. "What about you? You mentioned that night too."

"Yeah, I was totally crushing on you. I remember elbowing three different girls to make it onstage first. Matt stood up from his drums like he'd beat me if I came closer. I risked it, though. I'm really glad I did."

"I'm glad you did too. And when you came to our next gig asking to be in the band... the guys thought you were insane."

"Maybe I was insane. Maybe I still am." Frank laughed evilly, twirling an imaginary handlebar mustache for effect.

"If you're insane, then I'm certifiable," I said, trying to hide a sigh.

"Aw no, what's wrong?"

"Nothing..."

"Lies. Tell me, Gee."

"Sometimes I do worry I might be a little off."

"We're all a little off, Gee. Don't worry so much," Frank said, kissing my cheek. I smiled slightly and curled into him.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so damned amazing?"

"Not sure, but oh well" he replied, winking.

"Cocky jerk."

"You love it."

"That I do."

"So since Mario and Bowser seem to be dead, what shall we do with the rest of the night?"

"I guess we could just cuddle and talk."

"Perfect idea," Frank smiled and brushed my hair out of my face. He wrapped an arm around my waist and I leaned into him, sighing happily. 

"So how hard was it for you to hide your feelings? I certainly didn't notice."

"Quite difficult. Ray knows, by the way. I had to tell someone eventually. Keeping it inside was eating away at me. Driving me crazy."

"Don't I know how that is," I muttered.

"And I regret not telling you. We're both adults, not stupid teenage girls. We could handle it."

"True. But maybe waiting this long has been good. It strengthened our relationship and gave us courage. Me, at least. If we had gotten together earlier on, there was always the possibility of a bad breakup. We know each other a lot better now. We're both quite capable of remaining friends if it does end."

"Don't even mention breakups," Frank said quietly, frowning.

"I'm sorry, Frank..."

"How about I just make you shut up?"

"Oh yeah, how?"

Frank leaned and pinned me once again, going in for the kiss. I was caught by surprise and bumped into the coffee table. 

"Fuck, ow." I rubbed my arm and sat up.

"Sorry, Gee. I'm a bit of a klutz..."

I shrugged and stroked his cheek, encouraging him to return to my lips. He did, and gently lowered me to the floor.I had just wrapped my arms around his waist and began to move them to the hem of his jeans when he pulled away suddenly.

"F-Frank?"

He got off me quickly and stood, eyes wide.

"Frank, what is it?"

He pointed.

I flipped over and saw it.

My sketchbook had fallen off the coffee table and lay open, pages strewn across the floor. 

Frank was drawn on each page. Sometimes beheaded, sometimes mutilated, each time bloody. They were so realistic. At least ten of them. 

All drawn by me.


	9. The Intervention

I shot backwards, cowering against the couch. Trying to hide from my drawings. But I couldn't hide. Instead I sat with my head between my knees and tried to avoid Frank's gaze. I could feel him staring at me. Feel the fear boiling just under the surface. 

"I-I..."

"What, Gee?"

"I don't k-know..."

Frank knelt beside me and took my hand in his. He was shaking. 

"Don't know what?"

"I don't know how or why or... anything, really."

"So you don't remember drawing those," he mumbled, pulling out his phone.

"Frank, who are you calling," I asked, biting back a fearful sob.

"Mikey," he said simply.

I stayed silent as he talked to Mikey briefly and sat next to me to wait. It wasn't long before I heard the squeal of tires and running footsteps. Frank jumped up before Mikey could even knock. He wrenched the door open and pulled Mikey into a hug. I sighed and looked away. Sitting next to the psycho must have been so hard...

"Gerard? Are you o-" Mikey broke off as he noticed the pictures. "What the..."

"I don't fucking know, Mikey."

"What do you mean, you don't know?!" Mikey was practically yelling at this point, gesturing angrily at the pictures. "How can you not know?"

"I just don't!" I shouted, rising to my feet quickly. "You think I'd be denying it if I remembered doing it? You know me, Mikey. You both do. I know you're not stupid. We all know damn well that's my hand. Hell, it's even got my signature on a few of them. So lying would be pointless."

"Then what-" Mikey started as I cut him off.

"Like I said. I don't know. I don't fucking know. I don't know when I did those. Or why. Or even... how. How I could bring myself to do that. I seriously don't remember. I'm sorry. I truly am. Fuck, I'm sorry." I had begun to ramble and only stopped once I felt Frank's arms around me. I leaned to his touch and tried to blink back the tears.

"Maybe you should give the sketchbooks a break, Gerard." Mikey bit his lip.

"What the fuck does that mean?!" I shoved Mikey and he went stumbling back.

"It means I'm worried about you!" Mikey retorted, eyes wide.

"Gee, what's going on? Calm down!" Frank yelled, grabbing my arms.

"You've never pushed me before. What the hell is wrong with you?" Tears had begun streaming down Mikey's face. The hurt in his eyes sent me reeling and I found myself unable to stand. Frank caught me as I fell and helped me onto the couch.

"I'm so scared. I'm scared of what will happen. What's already happening," I added, gesturing toward the pictures. I looked up and noticed Mikey inching backwards.

"Where are you going?"

"N-Nowhere..."

"Mikey." I tried to stand but was pushed down by Frank. Mikey, unable to handle any more, ran out the door. I cringed as I heard the door slam and the squealing of tires. So much for help. I stood up again and this time Frank didn't try to stop me. 

I walked slowly to the backyard and slid open the glass door, stepping outside. I sat down on the edge of the porch and pulled out a cigarette. The sun was setting slowly and I could see my smoke mixing with the cool evening air. I sighed heavily, deep in thought. The door slid open and I looked up. Frank came out and sat next to me, holding a hand out for a cigarette. I handed him one and we sat for a while, the only noise coming from the drags we took of the cigarettes. Frank stood up after a while and walked to the fence, which was made of badly-assembled wood and barbed wire. He stared into space and I stood to meet him, flicking my cigarette onto the ground. He turned to me and I noticed he had a long nail in his hand.

"Fence needs fixing."

I nodded and took the nail from him. I gripped it tightly in my fingers and moved toward him. This time it was almost as if he knew what was going to happen. He knew I wasn't joking. He turned to run, but I was quicker. I tripped him and he went sprawling. He started to crawl away frantically, but I threw myself onto him, flipping him over.

"Gee, what the fuck are you doing?!" Frank's eyes filled with panicked tears as he tried to wriggle out from under me. 

"What I should have done a long time ago. Those eyes. Those fucking eyes, always judging me." I lowered the long nail and gouged out his eyes quickly. He screamed in agony as the blood ran down his face. I didn't stop until his eyes were an unrecognizable mess. I scratched the sockets and started hacking. His screams rang and I realized I needed to shut him up.

I got off him and hurried to the fence. He took the opportunity to jump up and stagger blindly, screaming as he raised his fingers to his mangled face. I came back quickly with a length of barbed wire, holding it carefully. I approached him from behind and wrapped it around his neck, pulling back hard. I could feel the wire ripping at my palms and winced as I pulled tighter. He gagged and fought against the wire, causing it to dig deeper into my his neck and my hands. I quickly let him and the barbed wire fall as I nursed my bloody hands, unable to take any more. 

Frank lay there for a moment as I focused on my hands before attempting to crawl to the door, blood flowing freely from his eyes and throat. I quickly leaned down to grab him by his hair, screaming at the pain in my hands. I bit my lip and began to drag him toward the door. The gurgling noises he was making made me queasy and I was quick about smashing his head against the glass. I kept slamming until his skull shattered the door. I let him go and he fell through the glass as if it was water. His top half was inside, his legs splayed out on the porch.

I stepped through the door and over his bloody body, going to the kitchen to wash my hands and vomit in the sink before collapsing to the floor.


	10. The End

Nothing is real anymore. I've officially lost all link between dream and reality. My life is neither. My life is both. My life, my entire being, has lost all meaning. Nothing matters anymore. He's gone. That much I know is true. 

It took a while for them to convince me of that fact. I spent weeks sobbing and screaming.

"You're lying! It's not real!"

Oh, how real it was. I could only spend so long without him before the pain in my heart began to tell me it was real. My heart. That's the only part of me that has never betrayed me. It's faithful, strong, and honest. Why can't the rest of me be as true as my heart? 

Too late now, of course. Even my heart is beginning to fade. I'm losing compassion for others. I'm losing the will to go on. The only thing that keeps my heart beating is him. His memory.

"Mr. Way?"

I look up into the eyes of the group counselor. He looks tired. Tired of us. Tired of our shit.

"What."

"I can see that by your rude tone, you've regressed today. Am I right?"

I say nothing.

"You're going to have to answer me. You don't want to lose your blanket privileges again, do you?"

"What do you want," I reply, stringing out the inevitable discussion.

"I want to know if you know what you did."

A simple request, really. So why does it make my chest literally cramp? I do know what I did. Of course I know. They've told me countless times. Forced the truth down my mouth like bitter medicine. But I have yet to fully believe it. How could I ever be capable of something like that? And yet I was. I've heard the word schizophrenia tossed around in the corridors outside my room. They talk about me as if I can't hear them. As if there's something wrong with my fucking ears. As if I'm stupid.

"Mr. Way!"

I roll my eyes and look at the floor, deciding not to dignify him with eye contact. I can hear him sigh loudly, a noise that makes my fingers twitch. What an aggravating man. He doesn't know me, so why does he even care?

"I want to know if you know what you did," he breaks the silence angrily, repeating himself.

"They've told me plenty of times. They never let me forget," I say quietly, focusing on the bright linoleum. 

"Did I ask you what they told you?"

"Fuck you, man!" I stand quickly and lunge toward him. The orderlies catch me in time and pull me from the room. I can see the counselor shaking in fear before he disappears from my sight. I struggle against the tight grips of the women in white, but they're holding on for dear life as they lead me to the head psychiatrist's office. They shove me into the chair across his desk and leave.

"Well, well, well. You're here again. What is it this time, Way?"

This son of a bitch is too mean to be an actual shrink. And yet he is. I sigh angrily and stare at the floor.

"That's not going to work on me, Way. Look into my eyes and tell me what Mr. Fischer asked you."

"Is that the bastard's name?"

"I will not tolerate this. Answer me."

"He asked me if I know what I did."

"So... the same question you've refused to answer the last five group sessions."

I sit silently, biting my lip. 

"Do you... know... what you did?" fucking jerk, treating me like I'm stupid.

"Yes! Yes, okay?"

"So... what did you do?"

"I-I... I k-k" I bite my lip harder.

"Go on."

"K-Ki..." my lip is bleeding now.

"Stop stalling, Way. Tell me."

"I killed him, okay? I fucking killed him!" I scream, spitting in his face. He calmly wipes his face with a handkerchief and sets his hands on the desk.

"Killed who, Gerard?"

I shake my head frantically and cover my ears. Anything to avoid this. I can't have done it. There's no way I ever would. But I did. Why? Why would I ever be capable of something like this?

"Answer the question, Gerard," he says quietly. 

I begin to sob, pulling my feet onto the chair and hugging my knees. I'm still shaking my head and I notice after a minute that I'm rocking back and forth.

"Gerard."

"I-It was..." I whisper.

"Yes?"

"Frank."

He nods and sends for the orderlies. We sit here for a few minutes in silence and before long, they arrive to take me away. I can't stand, so they carry me. If I wasn't broken before, I sure am now. I'm numb. So numb that I can't remember my face hitting the cold pillow.

*

I wake in the dark and curl into a tight ball. My head feels like it's caving in on me. I'm still numb. I can't cry. All I can do is think. 

I killed Frank. And it wasn't until now that I admitted it to myself. It still doesn't feel real. It felt like all the other dreams. But when Mikey came back and found Frank's body in the door and me passed out on the floor, he definitely saw how real it was. I'm not sure whether they've figured out I'd been having dreams. I haven't told anyone here. Mikey gave the police the drawings. I think it's the only reason I ended up here and not prison. My court date is soon. Maybe they'll let me stay here. Maybe it's better than rotting in prison. Maybe I can become sane.

Maybe.

I sigh, unconvinced. So much for optimism. 

 

Mikey hasn't visited. I think he's afraid of me. I don't blame him. I shoved him and murdered his best friend on the same day, leaving him to find both of us unmoving and bloody on the floor. I could tell he was freaked out from the first picture. I was afraid to face him after that. Ray and Bob haven't visited either. I'm not sure what to make of that. The emotion begins to flood back as the weight of the situation hits me like a brick wall.

I killed Frank Iero. I was in love with him. I never got to tell him, and I know that alone will haunt me for the rest of my dreadful life. I loved him more than I love my own brother. He was my everything. Those few days we were together will have been the best. I will never feel that joy again, or anything to compare to it. Not that anyone will ever look at me again. Not that I'll ever get out of here. 

I miss his eyes. I remember the beautiful deep green, so thoughtful and caring. I remember them well. But when I close my eyes, all I see are his bloody, mangled ones. On better days, I can still see his face. Perfect and untouched. 

Every moment I have ever spent with him plays in my mind like a loop day in and day out. It's only when I try to rest that I see the horror of what I've done. Maybe I'll tell them everything. Maybe they'll be able to tell me why my dreams became reality. Why I dreamed this in the first place. Why I don't remember the pictures.

Maybe.

One can hope, right? But I don't have much hope for anything. He's gone and he's never coming back. I've lost him and it is completely my fault. No one wants to have anything to do with me. I don't blame them. All I have now is my heart. My broken heart. One good thing, though?

I no longer dream.


End file.
